


Challenge

by Claireton



Series: Avengers Fics I write when I don't feel like updating Change of Plan but still feel like writing [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Curses, F/M, Fights, One Shot, Profanity, Reader be trading fisticuffs with Cap himself, Reader is tough, Reader-Insert, Roughness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 01:47:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5111840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claireton/pseuds/Claireton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one shot where the reader is a trained assassin hired to take out The Winter Soldier, but an old friend of the target appears, and he's not happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Challenge

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! This is very experimental on my part, as it's not the way I usually write at all, but I hope you like it. For a little bit of background, your character is a tough assassin, though you aren't explicitly evil; It's just the job you've been trained to do.
> 
> (also i know nothing about fighting so some moves here are probably 100% stupid but y'know)

You loosed a breath as you stared through the scope at your target, stabilizing yourself.  You would only get one shot at this, and if you messed it up, it was months worth of tracking wasted.

You had been hired to take out Bucky Barnes, better known as The Winter Soldier to most. He was as good at avoiding fights as he was at making them, it seemed, and he had been staying out of view for quite some time now. Thanks to some established connections, however, you had finally been able to pinpoint his current place of rest. At this moment, he was holed up in an unused warehouse, and you were on a nearby building, struggling to stop yourself shivering from the chill of being on the roof of a five story building. Even with your specialized outfit, your head being uncovered meant that there was plenty of space for the cold to work with. Your finger wrapped the trigger more carefully as you prepared to take the shot.

"Hold it." the sudden sound of a voice had your head swiveling round, your hand instinctively coming to rest on the knife at your hip.

Standing just outside of the roof's doorway was a man you recognized as Steve Rogers, apparently one of The Winter Soldier's friends before he was frozen. A quick look over revealed that although he was wearing regular clothing, he still carried his iconic shield with him. You had known there was a high chance that he would try to intervene, though how exactly he knew where you were right now was a mystery to you.

"Look, I'unno who you are, but you're going to drop that gun and-"

You turned back before he could finish, aiming through the scope again and quickly relocating your target. Just as your finger squeezed the trigger a force on your legs sent you to the ground, causing a growl from you and a roar from the rifle as it shot in the complete wrong direction. Looking up you saw Steve at the edge of the roof with an expression that could only say he was watching your target get away. Using his distraction to your advantage, you put your hand on your rifle which now lay on the roof's floor, intending to take it and follow your target. When the rifle refused to budge, you ran your eyes along it, and found Steve clamping it down with his foot. if you stayed to wrestle the rifle from his captivity, then there was no doubt that your target would make it away from you, so with some reluctance you decided to abandon the weapon in favour of finishing your job. With the cash you were getting paid for it, you would have enough to buy ten more of those rifles, and you always carried a sidearm with you anyway, so it wasn't a big a loss as it may have been otherwise. You brought yourself up to your feet and after quickly re-adjusting your holster, you set off in the direction of the door. The only thing that stopped you was Steve's voice sounding out suddenly.

"If you think you're going after him you've got another thing coming." he warned.

Your head turned to him, though for reasons unknown to you. You should have just blanked him and made way forward, but you instinctively turned your head to him.  His own head was turned ever so slightly so that you could see his profile, and though he clearly spoke to you, his gaze seemed fixed on something else entirely different in the distance. You considered making a retort, though you had no clue what, so you relented and turned back around.

"You're not leaving this roof until I have your word that you won't follow him."

"Well I don't feel like spending the rest of my life here." you retorted, the words coming to you easily this time around.

Though you knew you should have been moving, you instead found yourself staying exactly where you were, and watching him as he turned to you with his shield raised slightly in an aggressive manner.

"It doesn't have to be this way." he tried, his face holding some amount of pleading, though it remained overall determined and serious.

"No, it doesn't. But it is."

You turned on your heel and began to head for the doorway. You would rather not have to fight him at this time. It wasn't that you believed you would lose, but you just didn't have time at the moment. And if you were being honest with yourself, you weren't entirely sure if it would result in you killing him, which was something you would actually have preferred not to do. Being an assassin didn't automatically mean that you had no heart, and anyone could see that Captain America was probably one of the last people who deserved to end up dead. His friend, on the other hand, was overdue. Your fingers had just met the handle of the door when a roar of metal on metal cried out from close to your head. You turned you head just in time to see the shield bounce off of the door and back to Steve, leaving a large dent in the door as it did so.

"I don't miss twice." he threatened from behind you, his voice laden with determination.

You groaned inwardly, and your hand flicked to your sidearm at your hip. Unfortunately, it didn't look like he was going to let you go easily, and you knew that any intimidation tactics just flat out wouldn't work on him, but there was still a solution that would leave you both alive. There were no reservations about injuring him.

You drew your sidearm as you spun round, aiming it for his thigh and firing. For the first time, however, the tactic didn't work, as he quickly blocked the shot with his shield. It would most certainly have hit otherwise.

"I don't miss." you said plainly, glaring at him. It was a pointless thing to say, but pride had always been one of your weak points.

You turned to the door again, grabbing the handle with your free hand and pulling it, though it became much harder to open after the shield collided with it. The massive dent that was now present probably did no favours for the fact. You took a breath in preparation for another heave, but before you could carry it out, your feet left the ground, and your world became a blurry mess of grey and blue, the sky and roof mingling together while you rolled. Upon coming to a stop and reorienting yourself, you looked back toward the door and grit your teeth as you saw Steve standing in front of it and watching you carefully, ever so slightly crouched in a sort of fighting stance. Getting thrown to the floor was quickly becoming irritating.

You stood again, wincing for a moment as pain wired through your shoulder blades, though you refused to allow it to show longer than a brief second. Only when you balled your fists with frustration did you realize that your sidearm had been removed from your grasp, a brief search of the roof floor showing you that it lay in from the corner, just a little ways behind Steve. You tried to process the best way to go about the situation, trying to gauge how difficult it would be to get past him. A firearm was next to your only chance of incapacitating him, and you may as well try to even the odds with a weapon each. Just as you formulated a plan of attack in your head, your rifle suddenly came back to memory, and your head snapped down to it. Simultaneously, Steve seemed to take notice of it, and he began sprinting towards you. In spite of your self confidence, you were fully aware that he would make it to you before you could lift and position it, so instead you crouched and waited for him to come in distance. Once he did, you swung your leg out and caught him by surprise, connecting with his own and knocking him to the floor.

You rose again, leaping over him and making the decision to head for your gun first. It was going to take a lot of effort to open the roof door, and unless you slowed him down, Steve would never allow you the time. You were only a few feet from it when your back was met with the force of metal hitting it, and you let out a cry of pain, collapsing to the ground as Steve's shield came back to him. Still determined, you spared a glance back to see him climbing to his feet before you began doggedly crawling for the pistol, your determination outperforming the pain you felt. Your hand ghosted over the handle before you felt hands pulling you back away from it by your lower legs. With a grunt of frustration, you managed to twist yourself around before Steve grabbed your wrists with each hand, allowing his shield to fall to the ground as he pinned your arms on either side of you. Your heart suddenly lurched, and the cold of the roof made it difficult to discern if your face was truly heating up. Scolding yourself, you futilely struggled against his grip before you loosed another growl of frustration.

"Why do you even care?!" you growled, glaring up at him in anger. Maybe you couldn't make your way out of his grip, but your pride made an appearance again, and you refused to just lay there in silence.

"He doesn't even know who you are anymore! Why are you defending him?"

Steve frowned for a brief moment before speaking.

"Because friends don't abandon each other with times get rough." he said flatly.

"But I suppose you wouldn't know what that's like."

This hit you close to home, only because you knew it to be true. In a petty act of defiance, you spit at him, though it only managed to land  on his chest.

"Fuck you." you growled.

Steve looked down at his chest for a moment before giving a curt, wry laugh.

"You know, my mother raised me not to hit girls, but you're making that real hard for me right now." he stated, his voice just above a rough whisper.

With frustration was still on the rise inside you, you kept struggling against his grip, but those pesky feelings that made themselves known in your body made you feel less and less like resisting by the moment. In desperation, you resorted to one last tactic at the cost of some of your self respect. Clamping your eyes shut, you waited until you felt a tear slipping out and sideways down your cheek. If it was going to work on anyone, you knew it would be him. Right on cue, you felt Steve's grip on your wrists loosen, and you took the opportunity to break out of it, planting your feet around his abdomen and using your arms to push yourself, sending Steve backward. You scrambled to your feet and turned, at last taking hold of the sidearm and turning with it clasped between your hands. Only when Steve finished getting up himself did he notice that you had it aimed directly for his head, with no shield to save him this time. By this point, you had concluded that shot in the leg or not, he would probably still come for you. Your hands shook as you kept the gun trained on him, pressing your teeth together in anger. You didn't want to shoot him. You knew that he didn't deserve to die, and you could almost hear your heart screaming at you not to pull the trigger. For the first time in a long while, you felt uncertain as your finger clenched the trigger. Steve looked as you had never seen him before; a mix of hopeless and what you could swear was a type of fear. Apparently, he could see your troubles too, as he slowly raised his hands flat out and took a careful step toward you.

"Stop!" you yelled, tensing up even more.

Steve hesitated, but when he looked to your eyes and saw the apprehension you held in them, he continued, maintaining eye contact with you.

"I know you don't want to do this." he said. His voice was impossibly calm for someone in his position, and it inexplicably ended up making you feel less tense.

Before long, Steve was barely three feet away from you, and you still had the gun held up, though it was more because your mind was in too much turmoil to focus on what your body was currently doing rather than malicious intent. Your eyes traveled across his face, taking in most every detail. His perfect skin, somewhat messy blonde hair, and his, deep, shining blue eyes, still focused on you as he gently lifted the pistol from your grip. A silence followed, with Steve tucking the gun away as you rubbed your hands together nervously. Regret poked at you from inside for what you had done; relinquishing your only weapon, but at the same time, you know any other efforts would be fruitless. Your target had definitely made his escape by now, and frankly, it was starting to become more trouble than it was worth. Steve would probably always be there to stop you, and now that this whole fiasco had taken place, he probably wouldn't be alone any longer. You felt as though you should make this own, and perhaps alleviate some of the trouble you had with the man who was turning your heart to putty.

"Are you still going after Bucky?" Steve asked, before you had a chance to speak. You shook your head before answering.

"No point now." you declared. "He's long gone."

Steve nodded and seemed to relax just a slight amount, though there was still wariness apparent in his gaze.

"Why were you doing it in the first place? Personal vendetta?"

You shook your head again, crossing your arms and rubbing them to try bite back some of the cold.

"Just a contract."

The shift in the atmosphere from vicious to casual had happened at record speed, but you didn't mind.

"Are you going to continue trying to fill it?" he prodded.

"No." you answered resolutely.

"It's more hassle than it'll be worth." you added, making an attempt at a joking smile.

Steve did not return the favour, however, looking you over with silent judgement, likely trying to gauge the truth of what you had just said. Becoming tired of being watched in such a way, you moved toward the edge of the roof and took a seat, leaning against the raised part. Steve held a frown of some confusion as you watched you acting in such a casual way, though you acted as though you didn't notice, staring straight ahead. After a awkward few moments, he scooped up his shield and sat down also, though out of arms length from you. Your eyes drifted to the rifle, though you felt no urge to grab it.

"So why didn't you do it?" Steve asked suddenly, with his eyes toward the floor.

You didn't need to ask to know he was talking about shooting him. You supposed you might as well be honest.

"You know, just because I'm an assassin doesn't mean I have absolutely no morals." you stated.

"Captain America is probably one of the last people who deserves to be killed."

The fact that he left you with butterflies in your stomach probably wasn't worth mentioning.

"Are you so righteous with your other targets?" he questioned. "What about Bucky?"

"He's killed like  _one hundred_ people." you answered incredulously.

"And how many have you killed?" Steve looked to you like an angered parent expecting an answer from their child.

The question struck you like a truck. You ended up staring at Steve blankly as you thought it over. He was right, who were you to claim justice in murdering people like Bucky when you were just like them? Your hand clenched into a fist as a type of angered remorse filled you, cursing yourself for being so stupid and blind. Steve watched you the entire time, and though you were aware of it, you were too self absorbed to pay much heed.

"Look.." Steve sighed, slowly as though he weren't sure what he was going to say was the right thing to do.

"I'll make you a deal." he finished.

You looked to him curiously, wondering what kind of deal he had in mind. He didn't seem to want to continue without some sort of response, so you gave it.

"What kind of deal?" you inquired.

" _If_ , and only if, you promise not to try anything..well.." Steve started, then sighed again.

"I could use some help finding Buck again, and you seem to know what you're doing."

Your eyes narrowed in uncertainty as you looked over at him. Did he really just ask you to help him find the man you were trying to murder? You weren't sure to be wary of a trick or honored at the chance. You didn't have much time to think on it before he spoke up again.

"So do I have your word?" he asked, looking straight to you with seriousness.

You nodded in agreement, looking back to him with equal expression. It felt like the right thing to do; the first step on your road to redemption.

"Yes." you said, feeling as though a nod wasn't confirmation enough.

Steve gave a nod of his own then pushed himself to his feet, before extending a hand to you. You grabbed it and he pulled you to your feet with little effort. Just as you went to turn away, however, his grip turned tighter and he pulled you so close that your chests just barely did not touch.

"One chance." he warned. "I mean it. I won't hesitate."

With your heart racing a mile a minute, you didn't think you could speak without your voice becoming broken or high pitched, so you simply nodded, hoping he would let you go before he noticed the heat storming your face. Unfortunately, he seemed to have no such plans as he held on to you, staring you down. Whether his eyes flickering down the length of your body for a brief second was a part of your imagination, you did not know, but it didn't matter by the time he was leaning into you and closing the distance between your lips.

After a heated few moments he pulled away again, releasing your arm and looking over your shoulder with his face dyed the slightest crimson shade.

"Please don't make me regret that." he muttered as he stepped around you and made way for the door.

With a compelling reason behind you, you could imagine yourself on the path of justice for the foreseeable future.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I'm actually not happy with the way this turned out at all, but it's done now so I may as well post it. I think I'll just stick to my regular way of writing from here on out.
> 
> Still, how about letting me know what you think with a comment?


End file.
